


Illusion of Choice

by Autar



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kinslaying, Gen, a bit dark, no beta we die like all the silmarillion's characters, the classic "Help me hide the body."
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autar/pseuds/Autar
Summary: Arafinwë was at the bottom of the ocean. Fëanáro didn't know why he lied.The first kinslaying was more than it seemed.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë & Finarfin | Arafinwë
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	Illusion of Choice

Fëanáro's sword ran smoothly through Arafinwë's unresisting body.

His brother blinked and watched, confusion flickering in his blue eyes until the realization came down on him. He looked.. shocked, terrified, and betrayed all at the same time. Fëanáro wondered how his face could potray so many emotions in such a short period of time. Aranfinwe didn’t even have the time to scream as he coughed through his own blood and his knees started to give out.

Fëanáro let his sword ran deeper as he closes the distances between them. There were a slight hitch of breath and a gasp. Arafinwë's knees buckled completely and he would have fallen if not for the sword deep in his stomach and Fëanáro's hand looped around his body, holding him close.

Fëanáro would never hug his brother. This little display of emotion was just a mocking imitation of a hug.

"I don’t have a choice," He whispered, hand carding through Arafinwë's golden hair in a manner that, under a completely different scenario, could be described as gentle. "You should have gone out of my way."

The body in his arms was tense and Arafinwë gurgled out more blood, staining Fëanáro's shoulder as his head rested there. Desperate hands grasping blindly between the blade and Fëanáro's clothes, too slick with blood and too weak to have a grip on something. He was trembling, and Fëanáro just stood there, holding him close, listening to his choked breaths all the while whispering soothing noise in his ears.

Stupid Arafinwë—stupid, patient, peaceful Arafinwë who always thought there was still any good left in Fëanáro's heart.

"B-Brothe—" The word was gasped out. And he gave one last shuddering breath before going completely lax and still.

Fëanáro's sighed. And he blinked away the dirt that was trying to threaten his vision. "Stupid little brother."

* * *

Maitimo watched the exchange with unseeing eyes. Fëanáro didn’t know how long he had stood there, he just noticed his son's presence when he laid down the lifeless body on the sand and proceed to clean his sword with his brother's clothes.

"Nelya," he called calmly and watched his son snapped out of his reverie. "Help me hide the body."

Maitimo moved as if his fëa had leaped out of his body. His feet didnt make any sound in the sand. He refused to meet his father's eyes and he only spared a glance at the corpse before ignoring it all together.

Maitimo and Arafinwë was close in age. They were friends—best friends even, once upon a time when they were the only children in the family. Fëanáro thought it was unfair for his son to bury his own friend, but he chased the thought away.

Alqualondë was burning in the distance. Both of them was covered in the blood of their own kin. His own brother was dead, killed by his own hands. The world was dark, Morgoth stole his best works and killed his father while the Valar did nothing on their high thrones. There wasn't anything fair in this.

They tied Arafinwë's feet to a rock and bring him up onto a cliff. Maitimo's hands were trembling as he tied the knot. Fëanáro pretended he didn’t see it and told his son to take care of the rock as he carried his brother's lifeless body.

They threw him into the ocean. They watched as the golden locks disappear beneath the endless dark blue of the water and the wave eat him away, erasing all prove of their madness.

"I don’t have a choice," he said, both to Maitimo and to himself, an empty echo of what he said a few minutes ago.

"He was in the way. This would not happen if he wasn’t," he continued and he kept repeating the sentences to himself until they become true. Until he believes them to be true.

Maitimo didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

"I'm going back to the harbor, Atar," He said as he moved to turn away. Fëanáro stopped him.

"Do not tell anyone about this," he put his hand on his son's shoulder and felt the skin beneath his palm tensed. "Not to your cousins and not to your brothers."

Maitimo nodded. "Yes, Atar," and the words sound too hollow in his ears but Fëanáro let him go.

He stood alone for a while at the edge of the cliff, watching the wave crashing down onto the rocks below. Arafinwë was down there, tied to a rock and left to rot, a mere flesh for the fish to fed. He imagined he could see those blue eyes there, staring at him with hands outstretched as if he could reach him, as if he could drag Fëanáro down with him, but couldn’t.

And Fëanáro left. 

* * *

"Where's Arafinwë?" Ñolofinwë asked as they packed their supplies onto the ship, eyes carefully avoided all the blood around them.

"I haven’t seen him," Findaráto sauntered over, eyes hard and hands drenched in blood. He didn’t participate in the slaughter, none of Arafinwë's children did. He and his siblings along with all of his cousins were moving the bodies and placed them in a place where they wouldn’t be stepped over, where they wouldn’t be broken more beyond death. Findaráto might think it was the least they could do to pay them respect—to somewhat make up for their mistake—but Fëanáro thought it was pointless.

Not that he would stop him.

"He said he wanted to go here first," Ñolofinwë murmured. eyes glancing over the pile of bodies briefly as if he was scared he might find his brother there. "Have you seen him Fëanáro?"

"Yes," a truth. "He turned back to Tirion and left us," a lie.

The words ran so smooth Fëanáro didn’t even realize he was speaking.

Maitimo busied himself with the supplies and pretended not to hear.

Findaráto was looking at him in disbelief. "He left? Without saying anything to us?"

Ñolofinwë looked unconvinced. "I understand that he is very reluctant to leave, but I don't think he will suddenly do that without a word," he pressed on. "Why did he do that, Fëanáro? What did he said?"

_He called me a brother._

"What do you think, Ñolo?" Fëanáro countered, hand unconsciously move to the damp patches on his shoulder. His eyes were sharp as he dared his half-brother to challenge him more. "Look at your hands. Look at our hands. What do you think he will say?"

Ñolofinwë didn’t answer. He still had some sense in him to look ashamed. Fëanáro was too numb to feel anything.

Findaráto looked betrayed. "Atar will not leave us," he said, voice firm but wavered a bit at the edge. And the younger elf looked too much like the body he held in his arms a few minutes ago that Fëanáro had to look away. In the corner of his eyes, he watched Maitimo did the same.

"You're not a child. None of your siblings are. You father gives you a choice," he said. "Whether you want to leave or not is up to you."

Findaráto was an adult, yet he was young. All of Arafinwë's children were young. Fëanáro could see the fire and curiosity in their eyes, their desire to conquer unknown land and their fierce loyalty to their cousin's side. There was also hesitance there, worry for both their parents and what the future held in store for them. But it wasn’t strong. It wasn’t enough.

Fëanáro knew the answer even before Findaráto voice them, and he hoped against all odds that the younger elf would choose to stay.

"Will Atar be alright, Uncle Ñolo?"

_No, he is not alright._

"He didnt participate in the slaughter, Findaráto. None of you did. I think he will be fine, and both my heart and his will rest better if you turn around and follow him now. But, like Fëanáro said, it is your choice."

Findaráto nodded. "Then, it is decided. Atar will be fine but the same can’t be said to you. You need all the help you can get. We will go," he answered.

Ñolofinwë nodded. Fëanáro looked blankly at the vast horizon.

Arafinwë was not fine. Maitimo had slipped away unnoticed. Fëanáro didn’t need any help.

He nodded anyway and said nothing else.

* * *

Fëanáro burnt the ships.

 _A choice,_ he thought. _I give him a choice._

Ñolofinwë would see it. Fëanáro had made sure the fire was big enough that it could be seen across the vast ocean, even as a tiny bit of orange sparkle. Ñolofinwë would see it and he would realize what Fëanáro had done.

After that, it would be his choice. Whether he would continue to follow him across the grinding ice or turn back would be his choice. Fëanáro had given him a chance to choose, just like he did with Arafinwë.

_But both of us know what Ñolo will choose, right brother?_

A voice so soft and gentle entered his mind and Fëanáro saw gold on the periphery of his vision.

 _It is up to him then. He will choose, just like you did,_ he thought back to the voice.

 _Did I really have a choice, brother?_ The voice asked and he didn’t sound accusing at all. Just pure out of curiosity, without malice intent hidden beneath the words.

 _Yes,_ Fëanáro answered.

_Did you?_

He didn’t answer. The voice didn’t pressed on.

Fëanáro dared a glance at the gold swimming at the corner of his sight. Arafinwë was standing beside him, pale and shadowless under the light of the fire burning across the sky. He didn’t look at Fëanáro, clear blue eyes staring emptily at the ocean. If Fëanáro squinted enough, he could make out the blood on his clothes, and the sword-shaped hole underneath it. The ropes that loosely tied around one ankle was like a blaring sign that he refused to acknowledge.

"You're not Arafinwë," Fëanáro said out loud. Arafinwë turned to him and smile.

 _Of course,_ he answered in such a way that the words didn’t sound unkind. _You killed me, remember?_

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans for this. But then, I got swept up into another novel fandom. Here are the things I might write for the next 2-3 chapters :  
> -Maedhros' guilt  
> -Finrod's rage  
> -Earwen's broken heart  
> No promise though :)


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